Perhaps the last 20 pounds are the hardest. No, the first 20 pounds were. Wait, maintenance is – experience tells me so. No matter, something has been going on in my body-brain connection that has me stalled. Suddenly cupcakes look tasty. Processed food no longer is a turn-off. The drive to eat healthy is not driving me. Even my thoughts about eating are disheveled, chaotic, fragmented, manifesting in dreams.
I could blame this on my breast cancer (99.99% chance of cure from surgery in May) and the discomfort – fuck it – agony of reconstruction. I could recall all of the literature on sleep disturbance and how that messes with one’s existence, not to mention weight loss. I could blame my coping skills, realizing that my teeny-weenie anxiety disorder is off the wall now as I await the next surgery in 1 month. Or, I could give myself a break, realize that the past 4 months have indeed been sucky on me and Sue (who is starting to crumble also), that it’s OK to be fragile even if your partner thinks you shouldn’t be, and that I do have adequate coping skills that do not include eating protein bars – 3 at a time…
Exercise has become a relief. The 30-minutes on the indoor bike are a time to experiment with the digital output, play with my heart rate, see what activities make me go faster (music) and with less boredom. I can walk in the heat but pay the price in, um, chestal swelling. Walking is much more relaxing, uses more muscles, and is still my exercise of choice – just not at 5 a.m. Writing helps. The kind of writing that simply is free form then putting it away. Tracking my eating had become sporadic – I’m back to putting everything into Livestrong. How easy it is to slip on such an important behavior! I now am more avoidant of political issues, which was only fueling my anxiety and deflecting my true emotions. (I can’t do anything about which moron is chosen in the Republican primary anyway.) Sue and I have agreed ways we can help each other with my eating (rather, not eating protein bars), dealing with my increased anxiety, and her tolerance, or lack thereof, of anything Jan , and acceptable methods for her to be more verbal about her needs. I have a serious goal for a certain waist size and optimal health for surgery because it is going to be another long recovery process for my new foobs. I expect this one to be less painful and for both of us to cope better.
I’m OK, really. I’m not. But I’m working on it.